Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't
by Autumn.V.Elizabeth
Summary: In the midst of the chaos signalling Moriarty's return John comes to realize something about his flatmate and a certain DI. But there is little time for romance when one is chasing madmen. Though maybe, it will help to turn the tides of improbablility S/L
1. It Looks Like He's Back

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own them, I just use them for the temporary satisfaction of my muse. Honestly. As usual, my bank account can still attest to the fact that I never make any money. If I was being paid to write this, it would have obviously happened on screen.**

**WARNING: SLASH Don't like, don't read. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows and make s'mores.  
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**A/N: So, I'm back... yes... with another new story. I'm sorry for the delays on my other ones, but this was demanding to be written. (I actually just updated 'What It Takes' over in Star Trek: Enterprise.) Originally, this story was going to be a Sherlock/John pairing but that dissolved when I decided that I liked them much better as best friends and that Sherlock/Lestrade was just too good to resist. Anyways, without any further ado, I hope you enjoy your read. Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated.**

**_Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't_**

_Chapter One - It Looks Like He's Back_

A gunshot echoed through the dark London alleyway. A girl cried out briefly before stumbling and tripping to lay face down on the dank, wet ground. _Well this is a right bloody mess I've gotten myself into, _the young dark haired woman thought as she lay there, slowly freezing, unable to move and thoroughly unimpressed with her current predicament. Rain drops splashed down all around her as fog obscured the moon and a shadowy figure stole away into the night.

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><p>At the same time, in the flat of 221B Baker Street, on the other side of London, it was no the cry of a girl being shot that awoke Dr. John Watson but the piercing wail of a violin. The violin, is a beautiful instrument when played by someone learned in the subject, but not so in the hands of his flatmate, one Sherlock Holmes, the world's only 'consulting detective'. "For God's sake, Sherlock!" the veteran soldier cried as he came into the living room, "It is two in the bloody morning!"<p>

The only reply he got was one last grating note from the violin and a shrug from the tall lanky man as if to say, 'I'm bored, what do you expect?' John sighed, knowing full wellthat he would not get back to sleep that morning. "Would you like some tea then?" he called as he set the kettle to boil on the kitchen stove which was. for once, devoid of any human body parts that Sherlock was prone to using in his experiments.

"You know," Sherlock stated, as usual completely ignoring the question he'd been asked, "I actually have a cousin who plays the violin quite well."

John looked amazed, "You mean to say, that you actually admit to having a family member, or connection, who is probably so far below your level of intellect-"

"No," his best friend cut in, "She is quite at my 'level of intellect' as you say." As his look changed, John wondered for a moment if he had gone too far for once, but his flatmate continued, "In reality, there are some things in which she surpasses me."

John had to stop his jaw from hitting the floor. Remarks like that were rarely, if ever, heard around the great Sherlock Holmes.

"Granted," Sherlock continued in his usual manner, "she is only half a Holmes but after Mummy took her in, she improved on her skills, which were, sufficient to say, quite lacking in some areas. In fact -"

Abruptly, his muse was cut short by a very tired, and slightly dishevelled looking Detective Inspector bursting through the door.

"Where?" Sherlock inquired.

"Murder... Near Green Lane..." Greg Lestrade panted, trying to catch his breath.

"We will meet you there," the consulting detective replied, staring out the window.

Lestrade smiled slightly, giving John a nod good morning which the doctor returned before dashing back out the door, coat fanning out behind him.

As soon as the DI left, Sherlock jumped for his coat and beckoned for his friend to follow him. "He's back, John!"

Anticipation glowed in the sociopath's eyes, subdued only by the memories of that last encounter. Dr. Watson, however, just gave a half hearted smile and followed his flatmate out the door in rather low spirits. He was by no means excited for another encounter with the madman that called himself Moriarty.

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><p>Sergeant Sally Donovan stared up at the sky, silently cursing the rain that had become nothing but an incessant freezing shower. Upon seeing her boss approaching, she walked up to the neon yellow barrier tape and held it up for Lestrade to duck under, "Please tell me that you <em>aren't <em>bringing the freak on this one. She's hardly older than a kid," she said, nodding toward the prone body before glancing at the DI.

"I called Sherlock in, Donovan and for the love of God just don't give him any trouble," Lestrade sighed exasperated.

Just as he turned his back on a glowering Sergeant, the dark silhouettes of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson could be seen approaching the scene. "Freak's here," Donovan called, earning a disgusted grimace from Anderson who'd just stood up and begun walking over from his forensics work.

"Good evening, Sergeant," said Sherlock curtly as the officer scowled at him, "I see you were cleaning Anderson's floors again last night. I wonder if his wife knows they've acquired a new cleaning lady?"

Anderson, who was close enough to hear the remark was silenced by a look from Lestrade.

John, who'd been trailing behind, just walked on ahead to talk with the DI. "So, uhm... what happened exactly?" he asked, glancing at the other man.

"Single gunshot wound to the back, minimal bleeding. It shouldn't have been fatal -" his sentence was cut off by Sherlock.

"It wasn't. She's not dead."

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><p><strong>So? What did you think? I hope to get this moving a bit within the next chapter or two. ~has the urge to write a cool chase scene~<strong>

**But! I want to know what you think might/should happen so just review... please? Also, this is my first Sherlock fanfic, but rest assured it will not be the last XD**

**Any and all feed back is appreciated.**

**Lastly, I am looking for a beta. If you are interested, just shoot me a PM ^-^ Thank you!**

**Ravvyn Requiem**


	2. And Then the Realization

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own them, I just use them for the temporary satisfaction of my muse. Honestly. As usual, my bank account can still attest to the fact that I never make any money. If I was being paid to write this, it would have obviously happened on screen.**

**WARNING: SLASH Don't like, don't read. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows and make s'mores.  
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**A/N: Chapter 2! So, thank you for all the follow/alerts and the couple reviews :) Enjoy your read and sorry for the delay. (Expect an update a month on this story ^^)  
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**_Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't_**

_Chapter Two- And Then the Realization_

"She's what?"

Both John and the DI exclaimed, staring down at the immobile dark haired girl. "Are you stupid? Oh you must be! John you're a doctor, can't you tell when someone's been paralyzed instead of killed?"

"Well.. uhm... well I..."

"Oh never mind. It's starting to wear off."

In fact, both of the other men could now see that the girl's vari-coloured eyes were moving ever so slightly. John immediately bent down and checked her pulse - it was faint, so faint that it could almost be missed but steady all the same.

"She has a pulse," he spoke softly as he leant his cheek close to her slightly parted lips, "Her breathing is quite shallow and erratic. I suspect the paralytic affected one or both of her lungs as well as her heart."

For the first time since Sherlock and John had arrived, Anderson spoke up, "Seems to be a miracle she's alive."

"Mresilien..." a soft mutter came from the ground.

"Mressilien? What the hell is that?" DI Lestrade commented.

Again the murmur came, a little clearer this time, "M'resilient..."

Every head turned to the prone figure of the girl who was now blinking and moving frozen fingers. "I'm... resilient..." she finally managed so that everyone around her could hear, "Though... m'awful col..." her words became slurred and her voice trailed off.

Slowly, she moved her arms to push herself up. The girl would have fallen when her arms gave out if it weren't for Sherlock who quickly caught her and sat her up. Anderson and Donovan stared amazed as the high-functioning sociopath put his coat around the girl's shoulders to quell her shivering.

"Thanks," she murmured, "Now where is the bloody idiot who cut me with the scalpel?"

Sherlock's eyes hardened instantly and Anderson looked away guiltily as the girl's eyes lit on him.

"Hah. No wonder it was you. I'm sure you lower the IQ of the whole police department by a couple points every time you open your mouth don't you?"

Anderson looked indignant, "I haven't even said anything to you!" he retorted bore his boss spoke.

"Anderson, just shut up and take that bullet for analysis why don't you? I want to know the poison by morning."

"It wasn't a poison," the girl spoke calmly despite her chattering teeth, "more of a paralyzing drug."

Anderson turned, "Oh and I suppose you can tell us exactly what it is too?"

"Of course she can you idiot now shut up!" Sherlock glared at the forensic analyst.

"And I suppose you figured that out by looking at her shoes!" Anderson threw back disdainfully.

Clearly bored and annoyed at the banter between the two men, the girls stood and wrapped the long coat tightly around her petite frame. Loose curls of dark hair tumbled down her back, matted from the rain.

"Sherlock, honestly. We can both tell he's an idiot, just let him go," she muttered.

"Wait," John interjected, "You're telling me you know her?"

"Congratulations, John. You figured it out. Though it was rather obvious," he said sarcastically as he stood, "Lestrade, John, meet my cousin: Kimberley Holmes."

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><p>Jim Moriarty stared down at the flashing lights and yellow tape. He had succeeded. Finally, he had succeeded. It would seem that the girl had been the key after all. The man was ecstatic, overjoyed. Hew was so lost in his excitement, that he did not notice the cold eyes - one blue and one green - that stared up at him, or the lips that curved into the predatory smile of one who knows what their prey is going to five moves ahead.<p>

**Loved it? Hated it? Please review!**

**I've always wanted to write Sherlock as having a family member he relates to and actually cares about. So yes, this is going to be slightly OOC as well as AU. Hope you enjoy the following chapters!**


	3. More than a Mystery

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own them, I just use them for the temporary satisfaction of my muse. Honestly. As usual, my bank account can still attest to the fact that I never make any money. If I was being paid to write this, it would have obviously happened on screen.**

**WARNING: SLASH Don't like, don't read. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows and make s'mores.  
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**A/N: And I'm back to the land of FFN. I know, I know. I keep saying I'll do regular updates, but that isn't possible it seems xP Anyways, please enjoy. Review if you like. Hopefully I will be updating more than once every couple months... ~fingerscrossed~  
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**_Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't_**

John and Lestrade stared at Sherlock with their mouths agape.

"Your... cousin?" John began, "You mean, the one you were talking about earlier, the one who you said -"

"Yes. Yes, this is her," Sherlock interrupted loudly, turning to the woman beside him - only to find that she had vanished.

"Bloody hell, where'd she go?" Lestrade grumbled before shouting over Holmes' shoulder, "Donovan, where did that girl go?"

"I don't know, sir," she replied, walking up to the small group, "None of us realized she'd left."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, John raised an eyebrow and the DI frowned, rubbing a calloused hand through his hair. "Well, find her then! She can't have gone far, in that state."

A couple police officers quickly began canvassing the surrounding streets. Donovan happily took charge of the whole situation while the trio re-engaged their conversation.

"You'll never find her," Sherlock was saying scornfully, as John observed their surroundings.

The pair bantered back and forth, both getting equally frustrated with each other. The older was, as usual, embarrassed by the fact that the younger was right, and both knew it. Finally, John threw up his hands, annoyed with the two who were still locked in pointless argument, even after five minutes.

"Would you two stop quibbling like an old married couple?" he exclaimed, almost as frustrated as his companions.

Both detectives shut their mouths and turned to glare at the doctor as he continued, "I'm going home, if there's nothing else you two need. Sarah and I have a date that I intend to be well-rested, and groomed for. And unlike you, Sherlock, I have a job that I get PAID to do, meaning I actually have to show up."

Once again, the consulting detective rolled his eyes and glared, "Fine, go get ready for your date then. I will go do some work that matters, in the meantime!"

Lestrade just sighed, "There's no point in me trying to find her, is there Sherlock."

"We already established that Lestrade."

"Alright, well I guess I better be going back to the Yard. Try to find any leads..."

John began to wander off, knowing he wouldn't be terribly missed at the moment. As he looked back over his shoulder, he noticed something that surprised him: Lestrade and his flatmate were talking, Sherlock seemed to be showing him something. That wasn't alarming in itself, but when the DI motioned towards a cafe down the street (in the opposite direction of Scotland Yard), and Sherlock seemed to agree with a nod of his head, John did a double take. His ears confirmed what his eyes had seen.

"Why don't we discuss it over coffee?" Lestrade inquired, motioning further down the street.

Sherlock simply nodded, not understanding the glow that blossomed in his chest.

The doctor grinned slightly, the two men were so oblivious. He had guessed some partiality on Greg's part when they first met. But Sherlock was sure to be playing him. Or something of the sort. He began walking away again, trying to get to the main road to hail a taxi, the notion still plaguing his mind. Being a self-proclaimed (and proven on many occasions) to be a _high-functioning sociopath, _he couldn't have the feelings John swore were in his actions. Could he?

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><p>Kimberley looked out the window of the dark flat. She had recognized her cousin's room as soon as she had peered into it. Inviting herself to lay on his bed, she closed her eyes and thought back on everything that had happened as she waited for the effects of the drug to fully wear off. <em>I was being used as a pawn. I detest being used. But... I gained useful insight. Still can't see the end result though... Troublesome... And that bastard cut me with a scalpel! Quite rude. I can see why Sherlock doesn't like him at all. He's obviously a moron. <em>

Grumbling to herself about Anderson, she decided to head to the bathroom and try to clean the wound on her back. Just as she was about to start the water running however, a call of "Mrs. Hudson!" made her stop and turn to face the door. _It seems the good doctor is home. Maybe I can ask for his help. _

Kimberley had already discarded her ruined shirt, and so walked out in only her bra and jeans, holding a face cloth.

"Doctor Watson, could you -"

She was interrupted by a British Army L9A1 being pointed at her face. Blinking slowly, she put up her hands and then rolled her eyes, "Seriously, I was only going to ask for your help with cleaning this damned bullet hole in my back. Which, I may add, that idiot Anderson decided to poke and prod at with a scalpel!"

John was reddening more and more by the second, finding it hard not to stare at the young woman in front of him. A harsh cough from the latter broke him from his dumbfounded reverie, "Could you please put some clothes on?

"I'm wearing clothes. Besides, my shirt is ruined and I need this gash cleaned out. You're a doctor, you should be able to help," she reasoned calmly, "Honestly, I would do it myself, but I'm not that flexible."

Swallowing nervously, _Where is your professionalism Doctor Watson? _he berated himself, he motioned for the girl to sit in front of him as he took the cloth from her hands to dampen it in the sink.

"Why didn't you stay at the crime scene?" he asked as he came back and began gently cleaning dried blood from around the wound.

"I did not deem it necessary for me to remain. Sherlock knows that I'll be here."

John just stared at her back, pausing as the pieces fell into place. In the end, all he could come up with was to say, "Ah. I see."

Kimberley closed her eyes and sighed as the doctor fell silent. She could feel gauze being applied once he was done cleaning it a few minutes later.

"There you are. All clean and bandaged. Now really, please, put some clothes on."

The young woman smirked, "Oh? Are you expecting someone?"

A ring at the doorbell answered her question, and she backed into Sherlock's room to find a shirt. She could hear John explain pleasantries with some woman downstairs (_Girlfriend? Most likely.) _and she decided to keep quiet and go back to laying on her cousin's bed, closing her eyes.

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><p>John smiled at Sarah as he opened the door to her bright expression. "Shall we go," he motioned, out towards the street. As they stepped outside, he looked back over his shoulder, closing the door.<p>

They were just walking into the office to beat the early morning rush of patients when a notion dawned on the doctor._ How had she gotten into the flat?  
><em>


	4. High Spirits and Higher Stakes

**A/N: Sorry I've taken so long on this. D: Between moving, uni, general real life... My writing inspiration well has been drained it seems. But I'm back, kinda :) Please enjoy this chapter. I know Sherlock is really OOC, but I wanted to explore a different side to him, so please forgive me.**

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><p>Chapter 4: High Spirits, Higher Stakes<p>

Sherlock left the coffee shop in good spirits, a slight grin on his face as he hailed a cab to return to 221B Baker St. The warmth that had blossomed in his chest at the crime scene had yet to dissipate and he knew it wasn't due to the formaldehyde he'd drank the previous evening – from previous experience of course. Whatever it was, it was not completely unpleasant. He decided to enjoy it while it lasted. The whole ride back he had a sly smile playing on his lips, the early morning grey of the London skies flashing in his eyes.

Stepping out of the cab, the consulting detective looked around before unlocking the door and climbing the stairs to the flat he shared with John.

"Kimberley, I'm home," he drawled, throwing his scarf on the couch, noting the coat that had been hung up on the rack.

A groan came from the other room as Kimberley rolled off her cousin's bed. She emerged in his purple button down shirt and a clean pair of jeans, "Hello Sherlock. The doctor just left, but he did patch me up," she motioned to her back as she sat down.

Sherlock nodded, "I see you're making use of that overnight bag I've been toting around for the past few years."

"I knew I'd need it eventually. I wasn't really planning on being gone from London for this long, but between Mummy and Mycroft, I had more than enough work for a lifetime. You know how they are, when _those people_ start poking their noses in where they don't belong," Kimberley shrugged, glancing up at her taller cousin, "Can you forgive me?"

Motioning for the young woman to come closer, Sherlock gathered her into his arms as she stood, "You know you don't ever have to ask my forgiveness Kim. But," he stood back and held her at arms length, "why did you come back? I kept an eye on _their _movements, and they have yet to back off."

A soft chuckle escaped Kim's pale lips as she rolled her varicoloured eyes, walking to the kitchen and putting on the kettle.

"Moriarty," he murmured as his eyes followed her.

He'd known of course, but a part of him wished that that had not been it. She fell into the nearest chair and shrugged, "It was getting to be monsoon season in Thailand anyways. I didn't want to be stuck there again. This will be far more interesting."

Sherlock remained in the kitchen, preparing the two cups as he waited for the water to boil. "Mycroft hasn't been hounding me about that case he wants me to look at then I suppose. He'll be barging in here looking for you before long."

The kettle whistled and after pouring the tea he brought a steaming cup to Kimberley. "Oh yes," she smiled slightly as she took the cup, "him. I suppose I should pay him a visit. After he's done talking to those idiots again. Honestly," she huffed, "they just can't let sleeping dogs lie."

Just at that moment, Lestrade busted through the door to 221B and glared daggers at Sherlock, "How many times do I have to tell you not to withhold evidence? Or," he glanced at the young woman who stopped to look at him mid-sip with mild disinterest, "I suppose I should say victims."

Kim cocked an eyebrow, finished her sip of tea, and chuckled, "I assure Inspector, I came here on my own. There's nothing that need be said within the walls of Scotland Yard that will help you in catching the culprit. On another note -"

"Tea, Lestrade?" Sherlock interjected, and Kim smiled into her cup – this could be fun.

Lestrade had been so focused on the girl that he jumped when Sherlock spoke to him, "Sure, that'd be lovely, thanks."

Kimberley remained silent, wanting to see how far her cousin's unusually hospitable nature would continue. Sadly, it didn't go any farther than Sherlock handing Lestrade a steaming cup of tea, and motioning for him to take a seat.

"Detective Inspector, I apologize that we were not properly introduced earlier," she spoke softly, holding out her hand, "I am Kimberley Holmes, Private Investigator and, as I believe you were informed, Sherlock's cousin."

Lestrade took her hand gently with a nod, "Detective Inspector Lestrade, but you already knew that. It's a pleasure."

"Well now that we are all situated and introduced, why don't we discuss how we should approach this conundrum, hm?" Kimberley smiled and took another sip of her tea just as an angry knock sounded at the door.

Sherlock and Kim looked at each other just as a shout rang out, causing both of them to cringe slightly.

"KIMBERLEY HOLLAND. OPEN THIS DOOR, RIGHT NOW."

It was a woman's voice, an angry one at that. Kim paled slightly and silently slipped from the couch as Sherlock went to grab the door.

"You are shouting awfully loud for this hour in the morning, Mrs. Holland. You've been drinking again. How many meetings have you missed now? Five? Ten?" Sherlock spoke casually.

Lestrade looked around, trying to see where Kimberley had gone before he noticed her laying flat under the sofa, a finger to her lips. Silently, he turned his attention back to the conversation.

"You will let me in, insolent CHILD," Mrs. Holland was about to begin her tirade again when Sherlock held up a hand.

"Firstly, I am not a child. Secondly, Kimberley died. Sixteen years ago, if I am correct," he continued, his tone calm, though his posture had tensed considerably.

"No. NO. YOU'RE WRONG. SHE'S ALIVE. AND WE WILL HAVE HER BACK!" the woman was back to screaming at the top of her lungs.

Lestrade noticed at a glance that Kim had curled into herself slightly. Fed up with the woman, he stood up and walked to the door, "Excuse me ma'am, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Taken by surprise, Mrs. Holland spluttered, not knowing how to replied to the tired and frustrated looking man. Greg interjected before she had a chance to formulate a protest, "We have official police business to attend to, I'm afraid," he continued, flashing his badge, "So please leave before I arrest you for a drunk and disorderly."

Still spluttering, she turned to leave and threw back over her shoulder as she was halfway down the stairs, "You always were a crooked sneak, Sherlock. The whole lot of you."

Rolling his eyes in disgust, Sherlock closed the door as the front door slammed and nodded his thanks to Lestrade. Making sure to lock the deadbolt, he turned back to the living room where his cousin was working her way out from under the couch. Offering her a hand, the consulting detective helped her up and into a chair, handing her back her mug of tea. Kim accepted it gratefully, with slightly shaking fingers.

"My apologies about that, Lestrade. They prove to be a rather tiresome distraction whenever I manage to get back to London."

"You don't need to apologize, Kim," Sherlock stated angrily as both men retook their seats, "_They_," he pointedly glared daggers at the door, "are the ones who should be apologizing."

Lestrade held up a finger, leaning forward slightly, "If I might ask, why do you claim she died sixteen years ago, Sherlock?"

"Because I did," Kim replied, "As far as they and most of the rest of the world is to know, Kimberley Holland died at age 8 from drowning."

The DI raised an eyebrow, "Drowning?"

"Yes, and due to compelling evidence and a history of abuse, Abigail and Joseph Holland were charged with manslaughter, among other crimes against their daughter, Kimberley Holland," Sherlock finished softly.

"They were released five years ago. In all this time, they've never believed I was actually dead. As a result, my being in London tends to create some problems for my family until they quiet down again."

They settled into silence, Kimberley observing the two men sitting across from her, _Sherlock is good, but now… How much we both have to lose seems to have raised the stakes in this game. And now, it's black's turn to move – our turn._

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><p><strong>Alright, there we go! Hope you enjoyed it, please let me know what you think :) ~AVE<strong>


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